Though she was a complete stranger, Beatrice accepted Deborah’s embrace and hugged her back tightly.
“This is a gambling hell,” Deborah explained as she pulled Beatrice away, “It also serves as an auction house. Men come here certain days out of the month to purchase women. Sometimes as wives. Sometimes as servants or paramours.”
A tremble of fear moved up Beatrice’s spine as sweat broke out on her forehead. An angry growl rumbled in her stomach, and Beatrice slapped a hand over her mouth.She was being sold?
As if knowing Beatrice was about to be sick, Deborah hurried her over to a nearby bucket. Beatrice kneeled and let out a whimpering groan as her very world came crashing down around her. She had known nearly all of her life that Simeon had disliked her. Had often wondered if he truly did hate her. But tosell her?Sell her as if she was some livestock to be butchered?! How could her father hate her that much?
“Deep breaths,” Deborah urged, rubbing Beatrice’s back, “You must get a hold of yourself, Beatrice. I have known about this place for a while now. The more scared you appear, the worsethe man that bids on you will be. If you hold your head high and proud—those are the women that get purchased as wives.”
“This is not right,” Beatrice groaned, feeling another wave of nausea hit her as she vehemently shook her head. “This is not right!”
“Quiet now!” Deborah whispered loudly. “I know. I know this is not right, but this is where we are. We must make the best of it, Beatrice.”
Beatrice doubled over once again as another wave of nausea hit her. For another moment, she stayed like that, wanting nothing more than to fold into herself and disappear. After a few deep breaths, though, Beatrice grimly lifted her head and let Deborah help her to her feet. The other woman was right. Whether it wrong or not, Beatricewasbeing sold, and if there was anything she could to avoid being sold as a slave, servant, or paramour, she was going to do it.
“What should I do?” Beatrice asked, brushing the skirts of her gown into place.
Deborah gave Beatrice a proud smile then led her to the vanities.
Five minutes later when Nigel came back into the room to collect Beatrice she not only felt calmer, but she looked better as well. She had dried her eyes and through a deep sense ofdetermination, pushed her fear deep down. Deborah helped her add a bit of rouge to her plump lips and cheeks, and they had decided to take some of the pins out of her hair so that only the top half remained up while the bottom flowed in dark curls down her back.
“Remember, do not give in to the fear,” Deborah whispered as Nigel took Beatrice away. “Be brave!”
With a final nod of approval, Beatrice waved goodbye to her guardian angel and was brought back to the curtain.
“Right then,” Nigel grunted, positioning her. “Stay here in this spot until I come to collect you after the bid. No use trying to stop the auction; it happens no matter what.”
“So, I have been told,” Beatrice said coldly, looking at him through narrowed eyes.
Nigel stopped his fussing and looked at Beatrice, truly looked at her, for the first time, and to her surprise, he smiled.
“That guff will get you somewhere,” he told her with a wink. “Keep it up. No good comes from being meek in places like this.”
Beatrice was a bit surprised by Nigel’s sudden and genuine advice, but she had no time to react as the curtain started to rise. Within a second Nigel was gone, and as the curtain was pulled up from above, it revealed the still crowded room of masked men from earlier.
This time, however, they could see her as easily as she could see them, and many of them let out whooping hollers of excitement as the spotlight fell on her. Fighting through her fear, Beatrice raised her chin proudly and ignored the trembling in her limbs as the auctioneer began to call of numbers.
It was hard to track at first; the numbers were rattled off quickly and by many. After a minute or so though, several men had dropped out of the bidding, which had grown to over eight-thousand pounds. Soon, only two men were left bidding on her. One was standing near to the stage and to the right, and even with a mask on, she could tell was much older than she. Again, Beatrice fought her natural urge to grimace and kept her face expressionless. The other bidder was toward the back, and she could not make him out at all.
“Do we have nine-thousand pounds?” the auctioneer called.
“You have ten!” the older gentleman shouted.
“Twenty-five thousand to end this bidding!” the man in the back called.
The shouting in the room ceased immediately.
“Twenty-five thousand, sir. Did I hear that correctly?” The auctioneer called out.
“You heard right,” the man in the back called out. “Now, let’s get this over with. I want out of here. Do I have her or not?”
A rumble of laughter went through the crowd as everyone looked toward the older bidder.
“Do you counter-bid, sir?” the auctioneer asked as the light shined on the older masked man.
In the light, Beatrice could see that he was much older than she originally suspected, and she found herself holding her breath as she and everyone else waited for the answer.
The older man sneered as he lowered his top hat over his mask, as if he did not like the attention.